January 4, 2011

Dear Amy Lynne,

I cannot believe it’s been 5 years since you left us to go home to Heavenly Father. I remember getting the 5am telephone call. Some of those memories are seared into my brain, never to be forgotten. I was worried that your family wouldn’t get there fast enough and that it would be just you and me when you passed on. I was really scared of that. I didn’t know what to do! The doctors and nurses kept telling me that I’d know when you passed and that they couldn’t describe it, just that I’d KNOW. On January 5th, the next day, I found myself looking at the clock throughout the day saying to myself 24 hours ago, they took you off life support and 24 hours ago, you were still hanging in there. 24 hours ago your grandpa held you for the first time, 24 hours ago, they took a casting of your hand and feet. The nurse cut a snippet of hair to put in my remembrance box.  24 hours ago, I put you on the bed to get you in your “going home outfit.” I still have that outfit. I’d take it out and smell it. It smelled of you and it helped. Your smell is gone from those clothes now. I still have them, still haven’t washed them. I hope I can smell you again on those clothes. 24 hours ago, while we had our back turned and when no one was watching, you went home.

I can’t tell you how many days were lived by the hour. The hour of your passing, the hour or family holding you for the last time. The sweet wave I KNOW you gave your sisters as they were leaving your hospital room. Eventually it came down to the 21st of each month. You would have been 3 months, 4, 5, 6 months. And on the 4th. You’ve been gone for 1 month, 2, 3, 6 months. I remember being in the church hall one Sunday. Asking a sweet sister who’d lost her husband to brain cancer, when the acute pain goes away?? It hurt so much. She told me 5 years. After 5 years it should be around to being dull. I so wish that were true.

5 years. And I think, 5 years ago, you were alive. 5 years ago they took you off life support. 5 years ago, you were still hanging in there even though the doctors didn’t know why. 5 years ago you were being held by your grandfather for the first and last time. 5 years ago they were taking casts of your hand and feet. That I don’t display. Not because I’m not proud of you. Not because looking at them hurts so damn much. It’s because I’m afraid. What if something were to happen to them?? What if they got knocked down and shattered? What if there was a fire in my house and they were ruined? So they sit in your grandpa’s gun safe. In his garage. This safe can take heat up to about 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. For an hour solid before it would start to melt. There your casts are safe.

5 years ago, Lauren and Kathryn lost their baby sister. 5 years ago, your dad and I lost our daughter. 5 years ago today Grandma & Grandpa lost their granddaughter. 5 years ago today, cousins lost a cousin. Uncle’s and Aunties lost their niece.

And I still miss you. I wish you were raising hell with your baby sister.




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